#there’s some typos in these tags but u kno what I’m trying to say just ignore them ghghg

[pepperpixel]

Sometimes… blending markers is hard

[writings-andstuff]

Coincidences Part I (Bucky x Reader)

Okay, so this is me attempting at one of those “I texted you by accident and we ended up talking and I actually think you’re a pretty decent human being” tropes. I don’t know how it’s going to work out because this is the first time I’m doing something like this, but I dunno.  Maybe it’ll be cool. 

Anyways. 

Without further ado: Happy Reading!

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Modern AU if that’s what its called)

Words: 4259

Warnings: I mean, swearing a little. But none other than that. 

Excerpt:  Blowing a sigh through your nose, you realize you probably should just leave it alone and not answer at all. Then again, you are slightly curious to at least find out who texted you. They obviously thought they were talking to someone else, so it couldn’t hurt to maybe steer them in a different direction. Maybe.

*After writing this first part, I have determined that this is going to have to be a multi-part fic. Yeah. This got away from me, but I’m gonna try to post the parts in succession. 

Tagging: @langinator @beccaanne814-blog @fairchild21 

Series Tags: @melanie451 @sebstanwassup @colagirl5 @winenighthoe @hillrich @gotnotfeature

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New Message from: Unknown

3:32 p.m hey u still wanna get that drink sometime? 

You stare at your phone in confusion. What the hell? Last you could remember, you hadn’t given any stranger your phone number, and you certainly hadn’t agreed to any drinks. 

Blowing a sigh through your nose, you realize you probably should just leave it alone and not answer at all. Then again, you are slightly curious to at least find out who texted you. They obviously thought they were talking to someone else, so it couldn’t hurt to maybe steer them in a different direction. Maybe.

You glance at the clock perched above the doorway to the kitchen. It’s after 3:30 so, technically, you aren’t due for a break for another half hour. The diner is pretty quiet, though, so maybe it won’t hurt to just slip out for a little bit. 

The door to the kitchen creaks as you open it, throwing your apron up onto the hook and casting a frown at Nat, who is sitting on a stool, scrolling through her phone. Man, is she lucky that the manager had to take the day off. At the griddle toward the back, Wanda is humming as she flips a grilled cheese. 

“I’m taking my break early,” you declare to your friends. Nat barely acknowledges you, nodding once and making you want to pull her phone from her hands and hide it from her. Ever since she’d begun dating Clint, she’d been stuck to her phone like glue to paper. You raise a solitary eyebrow. 

Wanda turns from her grilled cheese and leans against the counter. “It’s early.”

You nod. “I know, but it’s dead out there.”

“Pete?”

You smile. “Of course.” 

Peter Parker had been coming into the diner a few days a week after school to do his homework and pick up dinner for his aunt after his uncle died. It happened so often, that the manager actually offered him a job, but he declined, saying that he already had one and that he didn’t want to spend any more time away from his Aunt May than he already did. 

Wanda turns back to the griddle and pulls the grilled cheese from it with her spatula. She sticks the grilled cheese in a foam container and closes it. 

“Is that for him?” you ask. Wanda simply nods, walking over to the desert display and cutting a piece of cheesecake off, putting it in another, smaller container, and putting both in a bag. 

“You never saw me do that,” she warns you, as she walks toward the door to the kitchen, bag in hand. There’s a challenge in her tone that you’re definitely not going to indulge. 

You look around the room with a thoughtful expression on your face, before landing back on her with a questioning tilt of the head and knit brows. “I never saw you do what?”

She grins at you and pushes through the door with her back, turning expertly just as the door is about to open fully, and holding it with her elbow as she walks out. 

When you turn back, Nat’s finally looking up and away from her phone. 

“Look who decided to join us,” you joke, walking forward toward the back exit. 

“She’s a softie,” Nat says, looking through the window at Wanda, who is handing a grinning Pete the bag with a finger to her lips. “She knows she’s going to have to pay for that, right?”

You shrug. “The kid’s been through a lot, and everyone loves cheesecake.”

“Not me,” Nat says, looking up at you where you stand to her right. 

“You’re weird,” you shrug a single shoulder. “I’ll be back.”

You make it about halfway down the hall before Nat calls out for you again. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

You don’t answer. Nat wouldn’t answer a strange text message. Nat wouldn’t even acknowledge said text message. Maybe you shouldn’t either. But the curiosity is killing you. Forget the cat, it has nine lives. You don’t, and if you don’t find out who this is, you’re going to die. Definitely. 

It’s obviously not going to be anyone you know, because the number is unknown, and part of you knows that. The irrational part of you is winning out, though, and you can’t help it. Don’t want to. 

It takes another ten minutes of contemplation, of writing and re-writing a text, to actually get to the point where you say, “Fuck it,” and send it off. 

3:48 p.m Uh. who is this 

Damn, you forgot a question mark. Should you send one? No, double texting is weird. Then again—

Your phone buzzes in your hand and you frown down at it. The sun is too bright right now and your phone screen looks more like a mirror than an open message. You cup your hand above your eyes, against your eyebrows, to block the sun and squint at the screen until you’re sure you can possibly make out the words in the little gray bubble on the screen. 

3:49 p.m its james

You suck in a breath. James. You definitely don’t know a James. Does he think you know him? Probably, or he wouldn’t be asking about getting that drink. Obviously, it was an aforementioned thing, but not with you. 

Another few minutes of quiet contemplation in which you figure out what you should say, landing on something neutral and truthful.

3:54 p.m I don’t know any James’

Shit. Is he gonna know that the apostrophe means that you don’t know any people named James, plural? What if he thinks it’s a typo? That’s two typos in a row—

Your phone buzzes again and you narrow your eyes at his response.

3:55 p.m we met at that cafe a few weeks ago and you gave me your number

Nope, never happened. And you’re going to tell him so. 

3:57 p.m i think i’d remember if i met someone in a cafe and gave them my number. Any chance you got a false one?

The response is immediate and arrogant. 

3:57 p.m no chance

For a moment, you’re not sure what to say to that. Should you call him out on his arrogance? Should you just stop talking to him altogether? Should you keep trying to convince him that you definitely never met him in some weird cafe?

The last one sounds best, but it is a stranger—you’ll never meet him—and you really wanna call him on his shit. 

3:59 p.m big talk for a guy who most definitely got a fake number

This time, the response takes a few minutes, as if he’s had to read it a few times and then formulate a response. You smile to yourself, convinced you won that one and then confused because when did this turn into a competition? You never get to call people out like that because you’re always too scared of the repercussions, so you usually just keep your mouth shut. But a stranger through a phone is different waters altogether. 

4:04 p.m so…ur not dot?

It took him five minutes to say that? 

4:04 p.m no

4:05 p.m then…who r u?

Should you do it? Should you tell him your name? Based on the area code, he lives around you, which is weirdly coincidental. There’s always a chance this is a scam or something, but he does seem pretty confused. It took him five minutes to figure out he’d been duped and you were telling the truth, so…. 

There’s also always the off chance that he’s been in the diner and has seen you. 

Then again, he might never see you or meet you. It’s Brooklyn. A pretty big place to just randomly run into a person you accidentally texted. Still, you don’t want to give him your real name. You do what any sane person would do: you give him your middle name.

4:08 p.m Y/M/N

4:09 p.m oh thank god

You frown.

4:09 p.m ?

4:10 p.m u r a girl, right?

4:10 p.m i kno you didn’t just assume my gender

Fuck, the w is missing from know. Oh well. This one must have him stumped again, because his response doesn’t come for long enough that you think he’s busy or something, until it comes in. 

4:16 p.m uh, no?

4:17 p.m Relax. I am. And you’re a guy, I presume?

4:18 p.m look whos assuming now

You’re slightly offended that your joke just backfired so badly. You inwardly cringe and look back down at your phone, breath ghosting over the screen in the frigid air. Damn, you forgot your coat inside. Wiping the condensation off the screen from your frozen breath, you quickly type back. 

4:20 p.m Certainly not me. I’m presuming. Different. Also, what girl has the name James?

4:20 p.m Jamie

4:21 p.m different

4:21 p.m touche. im a dude

You’re indifferent about the answer, but you realize why he was a little freaked out at the possibility of you being a guy: the first thing he’d texted you had been asking you out for drinks. Then again, now you were assuming sexuality. But he had thought he’d been asking out someone named Dot, and that seems like a pretty feminine name. 

Ugh. Your head hurts.

You sigh, unsure of what to say next. Turns out, you don’t have to think about it too much because he texts you a moment later. A double text.

4:23 p.m sorry if this is wierd. yknow. txting a stranger

You’re smiling, and at first you’re not sure why, until you realize it’s because he’s misspelled weird. As much as you don’t want to be annoying, you can’t let it go. 

4:23 p.m weird*

4:24 p.m ohhh we have a grammar nazi

4:24 p.m i don’t know what you’re talking about

4:25 p.m you just corrected me

4:25 p.m totally didn’t. I was echoing you

4:26 p.m what about the * 

4:26 p.m autocorrect

4:27 p.m mhmm sure and I was born in 1917

4:28 p.m man you’re old

4:29 p.m srryy duno wht u sid cant see thu my catarcs

It’s at this point that you’re covering your mouth with a freezing hand, laughing your ass off. This James, whoever he is, is hilarious. You grin at the screen as you type your answer, before noting the time. You’ve got to get back to work. At this point, you have been talking to James for almost an hour, give or take ten minutes or so. 

You have to admit, your break flew by faster than any of your breaks ever had. 

4:30 p.m alright mr. cat arcs. I have to get back to work. it was strangely fun talking to you

4:31 p.m wats tht deery

Just to piss him off:

4:31 p.m dearie*

4:31 p.m oH its on, grammar nazi

4:32 p.m look who’s suddenly been cured of his cataracts*

The next text isn’t a message but a picture—a screenshot to be precise. He’s saved your number to his phone with the contact name Gramar Nazi. You laugh, but there’s a strange, excited feeling in your chest that makes you grin stupidly.

He’s saved your number to his phone. Does this mean he’s going to text you again? Does he want to? If you’re being honest, you want him to. 

Still grinning like an idiot, hands numb from the cold, you save his number to your contacts as Mr. Catarcs and take a screenshot of it. 

4:34 p.m grammar* 

Then you send him the screenshot of his contact. 

4:35 p.m lol see u later grammar nazi

The door behind you swings open and Nat’s standing there, frown on her face. You let your phone drop to your side as she knits her brows at you.

“You forgot your coat,” she says, as if that isn’t obvious enough. “Also, your half hour break was up half an hour ago. The dinner rush is going to start soon.”

You nod. “Yeah, I know. I’ll be in in a sec.”

Her frown deepens, if that’s even possible, and she tilts her head at the phone in your hand, still open to the message between you and James. She nods at it.

“Who’re you talking to?”

“No one.”

She eyes you suspiciously but doesn’t say anything, opting to prop the door open with the wooden wedge. You totally forgot to put that in when you came out here. It’s a good thing Nat came to get you or you’d have to walk all the way around to the front. 

Finally, Nat retreats back into the relative warmth of the diner. 

You shoot a really quick text back to James before entering the establishment:

4:38 p.m later cat arcs

4:38 p.m wah

You laugh, but don’t respond as you walk down the back hall toward the kitchen. What are you getting yourself into? Who knows, but he’s funny, and everyone knows you need a little more funny in your life. So you push your phone into your back pocket and pull your apron over your head, trying to rid your mind of James and failing miserably. 

When you finally get home after switching out with the graveyard shift, you’re exhausted and ready to just fall into bed. 

Instead, you peel off your clothes—which smell unpleasantly of french fry grease and coffee—and shower away the diner stink. It’s while you’re getting yourself dressed again that you remember James. You’d been so busy that he’d been pushed to the back of your mind during the dinner rush and hadn’t re-appeared since. Until now. 

You sigh and pull on a pair of leggings and a T-shirt before checking the clock. 8:08 p.m. Perfect. 

You grab the only other key on the key rack in the kitchen and exit your apartment, locking the door and walking a few steps down the hall to the apartment next door. 

Unlocking the door, you don’t even check to see if he’s home and opt instead to collapse onto his couch. Sure enough, you hear a deep voice down the hall talking on the phone. He doesn’t even know you’re here. 

You met Steve Rogers—what was it?—two years ago? Probably somewhere around there. The two of you were just out of college and just beginning to live on your own. Steve, who had moved in a few weeks before you, had helped you unpack almost all of your boxes. You’d gone on to learn that he was an art major starting his own studio and that he had lived in Brooklyn his whole life. After finishing college, he’d decided to move out into an apartment not too far from his childhood home.  

You couldn’t say the same thing. You’d lived your whole life in Manhattan, with its annoying cabs and its bright lights. Miss it desperately. 

It takes Steve at least five more minutes to come out into the main living room, still on the phone. 

“—g deal.” A pause. He makes his way into the kitchen, barefoot and wearing sweats. He still hasn’t seen you. “I’m sure it’s not, Buck. You’re overreacting.” Another pause. Now that he’s in the kitchen, he’s facing the counter, which faces the couch. 

His eyes widen when he finally sets eyes on you and he frowns, mouthing, “What’re you doing here?” 

You shrug and mouth back, “Bored.”

He smiles and waits for Bucky to finish talking to him over the phone. “Y/N’s here.” Pause. “Yeah.” Pause. He pulls the phone away from his cheek for a moment to address you. “Bucky wants to know if you enjoy breaking and entering.” Of course he knows you’ve just waltzed in unannounced; you’ve done it before.

You scoff and hold a hand to your chest in mock offense. “I’m offended! It’s not breaking and entering if I have a key,” you say holding up said shiny item. It glints in the poor lighting of the apartment. 

Steve repeats what you said back to Bucky, who says something else. “No, I’m not—” a deep sigh. “Fine.” He looks at you again. “Bucky wants to know what you’d do if I was ‘with someone’?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Like Peggy?”

Steve blushes almost imperceptibly, but you catch it, and he nods once. 

You shrug. “Leave.”

“Leave,” Steve parrots to Bucky, who must say something on the other line that Steve doesn’t like, because he shakes his head vigorously, despite the fact that Bucky can’t see him. “You’re gross, Buck.” 

You tilt your head. 

“Bucky wants to—”

Groaning, you pull yourself up from the couch, walk into the kitchen, and pluck the phone from Steve without giving him a chance to protest. 

The line crackles for a moment, as if Bucky has been driving and has just gone under a tunnel, but it clears up in another moment, and you breathe into the receiver. 

“That was annoying,” you say. “What does Bucky wanna tell me?”

Bucky laughs. “Bucky would like to know if you enjoy stealing his best friend.”

You look up at a very worried Steve. “He’s my best friend too.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Steve smiles at you and turns to put a filter in the coffee machine. You grab the coffee from the cupboard and hand it to Steve as Bucky replies. 

“I knew him first,” is his retort. 

“First is the worst,” you rebut, grabbing a few mugs from the drying board and retreating to the couch again. “Second is the best.”

“You can’t hear it,” Bucky replies, his voice higher than usual in the phone. Everyone, you think, sounds higher-pitched in the phone. It’s gotta be some sorta known fact or something. A scientific fact. Gotta be. “—but I’m sticking my tongue out at you.”

You poke your tongue out from between your lips and are extremely grateful that Steve has his back to you to prepare the coffee. “Me too.”

“Are you two done?” Steve says in the background as you stand again and sit on one of the stools on the other side of the counter. 

“What’s he want?” Bucky asks. 

“Wants to know if we’re done talking,” you repeat. “Think he misses his hubby.”

On the other end of the line, Bucky cracks up, laughing so loud that someone yells something—toward him, you guess—that you can’t make out. Bucky clears his throat and whispers, “Bye, Y/N. Gimme back my man.”

You laugh as Steve sets a cup of coffee in front of you, made just the way you like it. “Bye, Buck. See you later.”

Handing over the phone, you blow on the surface of your coffee, watching as Steve takes the phone, slotting it between his shoulder and ear, and gingerly brings his coffee over to the counter you’re sitting at. “Yeah,” he says to Bucky. “Yeah, I know. I’ll get on it, promise.” Break. “See you tomorrow. Night, Buck.”

A few seconds later, he hangs up the phone and turns his attention toward you. “You have work tomorrow?”

He’s talking about your other job, the one you went to college for: editing. You work at a low-budget publishing company and you spend all day reading over articles on topics you couldn’t care less about for grammatical mistakes. It’s your job during the week, but because it’s low-budget, you also work at the diner. Graveyard shift Tuesdays and Thursdays, regular shift Saturdays and Sundays. 

Mondays are your days off of everything, and today is Sunday. 

“Yeah,” you agree. “I took off Friday, so I figured I’d make it up by working tomorrow.”

Steve sips his coffee and then gives you an apologetic look. “At least it’ll be worth it.”

“Yeah,” you scoff. “Go out clubbing with you, Peggy, Bucky, Sam, and Wanda. Cause I’m really a club-going type of person.”

Steve’s sympathetic look makes you feel sort of bad for snapping. “I know. I’d rather be home painting or something, but Peggy and Bucky think it’s a good idea, and Sam was all for it, so.” He takes another sip of his coffee. You haven’t touched yours yet. Too hot. “You said Wanda’s coming? Guess Nat and Clint are—”

“Going out,” you nod, finishing for him. “And Bruce and Stark?”

“Some science thing down at the plant,” he sums up and you shake your head. 

“Geeks,” you scoff. 

“Geeks,” Steve agrees with a nod. 

You end up talking to Steve for another hour before leaving. When you get back to your apartment, you hang the keys on their respective hooks in the kitchen and grab your phone from the counter before making your way to your room. 

You undress and get into your pj’s before getting into bed and lying on your side, clicking your phone open. 

There are four notifications waiting for you when you open it. The oldest is a Snap from Nat: 8:12 p.m. The next one is a message from Wanda, the preview reading something about the time for Friday: 8:31 p.m. Third is a message from your mom asking how work was and if you want her to drop off pasta for you tomorrow night: 8:54 p.m. The last one is—

New Message from Mr. Catarcs at 9:18 p.m.

Against your better judgement, you open that one first. 

9:18 p.m i was wondering why u were so familiar and i figured out that it’s cuz u remind me of this girl i kno

10:03 p.m oh?

You open your other messages while you wait for an answer from him. Nat’s Snap is a pic of the sign outside of the diner—the chalkboard one—before she took it in, with the specials written in the manager’s handwriting. It’s colorful as hell and sports the worst drawing of a chicken you’ve ever seen sitting right next to the words Chicken Marsala. How had you missed that earlier? 

You giggle and send one back, covering the camera with your thumb and writing ‘Wow’ in the black screen with red ink and some of those a-okay hand emojis. 

Still no answer from James. It is now 10:06. 

You tell your mother that you would love some pasta for tomorrow night, and ask her if she could send over a little more than usual so you could share it with Steve since he loves her cooking so much. 

Still no answer. 

It’s while you’re in the middle of telling Wanda that you’re going to pick her up around 7 on Friday night that your phone buzzes with a new message from James. You quickly send off the message to Wanda and click on the message from Mr. Catarcs at the top of your screen. 

10:12 p.m yeh uve got the same attitude as her

10:13 p.m that a good thing?

10:15 p.m depends

10:15 p.m on?

10:15 p.m what ur like in person

You’re not sure what to do with that, so you let it sit for a little while before answering. 

10:18 p.m guess you’ll have to get to know me better before that happens. need to make sure you’re not a serial killer or something

10:19 p.m im not a serial killer. r u?

10:20 p.m not as far as I know

10:21 p.m as far as uknow? what? u got smth to tell me

10:22 p.m definitely not

10:23 p.m unconvinced ur gonna have to try harder

You laugh. 

10:24 p.m nah its fun to think about you wondering if i’m a jeffrey dahmer wannabe

10:25 p.m im scared

10:25 p.m certainly you’re not scared of lil ol’ me

10:26 p.m certainly not

10:27 p.m i can feel the sarcasm all the way over here

There are a few minutes of radio silence during which you think that you haven’t had a conversation this entertaining in a long time. It’s fun talking to James, and it makes you both slightly nervous and very excited to see what happens. It’s that edge-of-your-seat, staying-up-even-though-you’re-exhausted-to-answer-a-text feeling. It feels like high school. You grin down at your black phone screen and wait for it to buzz. A few seconds later, it does, with an incoming text from Mr. Catarcs.

10:31 p.m its fun talking to u grammar nazi

10:31 p.m you too, mr. catarcs

10:32 p.m im gunna get u to use txt lingo

10:32 p.m yeah right. good luck

10:33 p.m just wait. ill do it. dont need luck. ive got skill

10:33 p.m LOL. i repeat: good luck

10:33 p.m mad skillz

10:34 p.m good night catarcs

10:35 p.m u forgot a comma

10:35 p.m you*

10:36 p.m just u wait. imma do it. gnight grammar nazi